


Something He Wasn't Supposed to See

by servilesammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, John Finds Out, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mentions of Top Dean/Bottom Sam, POV John Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 02:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servilesammy/pseuds/servilesammy
Summary: It started slowly, John supposes, the tumbler of whiskey he clutched closer to five fingers than the usual two. I mean, sure, maybe it was a little weird that two teenage boys, brothers, wanted to share the same bed every night. He had always figured it was just a habit from childhood or even fear of the things that go bump in the night, since they've seen 'em firsthand.But there were other things too, John realizes.





	Something He Wasn't Supposed to See

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at servilesammy

It started slowly, John supposes, the tumbler of whiskey he clutched closer to five fingers than the usual two. I mean, sure, maybe it was a little weird that two teenage boys, brothers, wanted to share the same bed every night. He had always figured it was just a habit from childhood or even fear of the things that go bump in the night, since they've seen 'em firsthand.

But there were other things too, John realizes with a cringe, memories surfacing. Those months that boys avoided each other, God it must've been years ago, how old was Sam? 13? Jesus. They were never meeting the other's eyes, only speaking when strictly necessary, one or both gone at any given time. John snorts, dryly, devastatingly, when he wonders what exactly caused that. He has a good idea. The scene is painted differently with the addition of this realization, what he thought was growing pains was a certain star-crossed pining.

And after that, he thinks, the boys suddenly started talking again. He'd questioned Dean but was only met with a shrugging shoulder, Dean telling him "We talked." So he let it go. God, what a dumbass he was. Is. Dean had always been popular with the girls in whatever shithole town they landed in, wasn't unusual for him to come back late and head straight for the shower, flushed with faint love bites blooming on his neck. It made sense, at least at the time, that the hickeys darkened and a sated haze settled over his eyes more often than not.

Sam, however, that should've raised a red flag. He wasn't as committed to the game as Dean was, he didn't pretend to go out like his brother, but there were marks on him too, a flush and a bit of a odd gait. John didn't question him, didn't want to embarrass the kid when he was just figuring himself out. Parenting from a distance was always easier, and maybe he knew even back then and just didn't want to, well, know it.

So there they all were, the boys coasting through teenage years, smelling like sex and smattered in bite marks and leaning in to each other, whispering and touching, only increasing in frequency as the years went on. He'd tried to suggest they sleep in their own beds of course, and sure he'd tried to get Sam to cover up his long legs that stuck out from girl's shorts and the suggestive cant of his hips that appeared sometimes (looking back it certainly only happened around Dean), tried to get his oldest to come on more hunts with him but he was always met with some stuttering excuse from Dean and a cold glare from Sam.

So, John brushed it off, didn't know he'd end up cursing himself just down the road. It was just a few weeks ago that something had finally clicked for him, those errant touches and whispers and giggles suddenly very suggestive. Then he'd seen it, something he wasn't supposed to see, Dean reaching out to cup Sam's face and the look they shared when it happened. Something hungry and wanton, but a touch of too-deep love under that. It scared the hell out of him. He'd turned right around and pretended he didn't see anything, tried to push it out of his mind but now every move they made together John was painfully aware of, painfully aware of the codependency and sexuality of it.

He didn't know what to do, just went out and drank for as long as he could and avoided his children. His own damn children. Then it happened; the big reveal. He'd stumbled into their motel room, drunk, and the boys were usually asleep by now, but not tonight. He didn't comprehend it at first, the tangle of limbs he saw in the dark, so he'd flicked the light on to see Sam under Dean and... Dean in Sam. No matter how fast they jumped away from each other and stuttered out stupid excuses and looked up at him with wide doe-eyes, John was destined to see it.

"Sam," he'd said, "get dressed and come outside." Then he'd stepped right out that shitty motel door and waited. A few minutes later, Sam met him, stood as far away as he could, eyes on his feet and fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Jesus, it's Dean's shirt, John realizes with a pained inhale. He leaned in, grabbed Sam's face and yanked it up so their eyes met, and told him "You're gonna leave, Sam. You're gonna go and leave Dean alone." And Sam had looked like he was going to disagree, going to spit in John's face, and then the defiance melted away from his eyes, left them sad and empty.

"Yes, sir," Sam whispered, hallow, and John followed him inside to watch him pack a bag. His gaze cut to his brother when he was done, he reached into his bag and pulled out an envelope. John snagged it before Sam could give it to Dean, a parting gift, a clue. Stanford University Undergraduate Admissions, the return address stated. "Out, Sam," John told him, and then he'd left, just like that, a piece of Mary gone. Dean moved to follow him, chase him, but John stood right there in his way, letter to be destroyed as soon as possible.

And now it's days later, and John hasn't left the motel room and Dean left in the middle of the night and took the Impala with him, and all John's got left to keep him company are the ghosts of his empty liquor bottles.


End file.
